


A Thousand First Loves

by IneffableDoll



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Impressions, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Good Omens AU, Happy Ending, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love at First Sight, One Shot, Other, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableDoll/pseuds/IneffableDoll
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale have been on earth for 6000 years. However, Heaven has had to use miracles to keep them apart - and for good reason. A short and sweet one-shot.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 150
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	A Thousand First Loves

**Author's Note:**

> “Who could refrain,  
> That had a heart to love, and in that heart  
> Courage to make’s love known?”  
> -The Tragedy of Macbeth, Act II, Scene III

The first time is on a wall.

Everything is new and fresh. Quite literally, since most of the world has barely been invented and not everything is totally here just yet. 

The Snake of Eden is hanging around, though Aziraphale hopes rather senselessly that it will just go back to whence it came - to Hell, that is. However, Hell clearly intends for the snake to remain as a scout for the below, just as Aziraphale is to remain here for above.

Aziraphale is not stupid. He knows what to do if he comes across a demon. He is of the host, a former soldier of the War of Heaven, also the former wielder of a flaming blade; he does not need to be high-ranking to take it under his jurisdiction to eradicate the threat should he need to. That is what he’s here for, after all.

It is at this thought that a snake appears by his side. The Snake, that is. Aziraphale keeps his gaze averted wishing fervently _goawaygoawaygoawaygoaway_ , which, shockingly, doesn’t work too well. The snake instead grows larger, taller, then slender and dark as a robe’s hem dusts the ground and wings like the night unfurl. Aziraphale pretends he isn’t looking.

The demon is, well…beautiful.

He was told they were ugly. That they were broken and bent, covered in bulbous growths and animalistic features that obscure their angelic roots. He supposes there must be exceptions to all rules, but still – what an exception in particular. Not much he can do about it if a demon is this attractive, but it certainly tosses his senses for a moment. The strong cheekbones, luscious red curls, eyes like a sunset…

Shoot, he’s staring.

The demon is staring back.

Surely eye contact with a demon is sinful enough as it is. Talking to one is probably worse, but…

“Hello.”

The demon perches an eyebrow as he takes the angel in, looking him up and down unabashedly before he replies. “Hey.”

Aziraphale has no idea what to say. He wasn’t even good at the social functions in Heaven, let alone with his natural enemy. But the demon isn’t attacking or even standing too close, so maybe the whole slaying business can wait for a bit. Heaven won’t notice, right? They don’t pay much attention to him, after all.

“So, all of...that.” Aziraphale gestures behind him to the garden. “Order from Hell, then?”

The demon shrugs. “Not specifically. Just told to make trouble. Demon things, you see. The apple was a last-minute decision.”

“Ah.” The angel is already out of talking points.

“Personally,” the demon continues, “I don’t see what’s so bad about it. Free will, you know. Sounds rather nice to me. I mean, sure, you can screw everything up, but then at least it’s on you.”

The angel hesitates a long time before saying anything. He’ll never admit it, but he’s been thinking about that ever since he was told what the apple did. “Surely, it’s bad if you thought to tempt them to it, and God told them not to. That’s reason enough.”

“What would you do?” the demon asks suddenly, as though Aziraphale hadn’t even spoken.

“Pardon?”

“If you had free will. If you weren’t tied down to this wall, tied to the demands of Heaven.”

“If I was human, then?”

“Sure.”

Aziraphale is not willing to consider that. “How about you, demon? If you were not at the call and whim of the damned, instead linked to a mortal life?”

The demon takes note of how the angel diverts the question, but he doesn’t call him out on it. “Suppose I’d talk to you without wondering if you were going to smite me, angel.”

Aziraphale is definitely not looking at the demon now. “Not a huge fan of smiting people.”

“I’m a demon,” he points out uselessly. “You’re literally supposed to have smote...smitted? Smitten? Attacked me as soon as I showed up here.”

Aziraphale nods slightly, eyebrows knotted close.

“Hmm.” The demon considers this, and Aziraphale can sense the smirk crossing his demonic countenance as he speaks next. “You know what else I’d do, uh…?”

“Aziraphale.”

The demon steps much closer and takes the angel’s chin in his hand. He speaks slowly, a luscious drawl, eyes of the tempter. “You know what else I’d do, Aziraphale?”

He doesn’t know, but also maybe doesn’t want to. But he doesn’t move away.

“I’d…” The demon hesitates, staring into Aziraphale eyes. There’s something registering on his face, and he drops his hand. “Well, guess I’d do whatever I want,” he finishes lamely.

The angel can feel his rapid heartbeat and wonders why it does that. Hearts are rather new, too. His face is warm even as the air chills and clouds gather to the east; a storm, the very first. “What is your name, demon?”

“Crawly.” He makes a face. “Don’t like it much.”

“Well.” Aziraphale pauses. “Let me know what you change it to.”

And at that, the first rain begins to fall. He doesn’t know what to think of the sensation as the first half dozen droplets catch in his hair and clothing. Tentatively, he looks to Crawly, whose face is twisted up in reptilian disgust. 

Aziraphale steps closer to him and lifts a wing over the demon’s head.

They make eye contact, and it’s different. Aziraphale remembers Adam and Eve, the physical things of humans and their affections. Things they didn’t need to do to procreate but did for their simple love for each other.

He realizes with a start that he wants to try it.

He leans forward and closes the small gap and kisses the demon.

The demon kisses back. The surge of love is sudden and deafening, and for a creature who can sense love, it’s overwhelming to feel it directly at him.

They draw back. Rain is falling in hard sheets and, wings or not, they’re both completely drenched. Aziraphale hardly notices. He knows why his heart is beating fast like that now. And he knows it’s wrong, he does. But something in him doesn’t care, and that thing is strong enough to drown out the voices of reason.

“Well.” The demon is the first to look away, and he draws himself properly under the angel’s wing again, sidled close enough for their elbows to touch.

“The humans come up with...interesting things,” Aziraphale manages.

They’re out of time, but they don’t realize it.

The next thing Aziraphale is aware of, he’s standing on the wall, all alone. He doesn’t remember when it started raining so hard. He must’ve been very distracted for his mind to wander so. What had he been thinking about, or doing?

He looks to his left, almost afraid of what he’ll find. It’s nothing, of course, and his heart plummets. Why does it do that? 

There shouldn’t be anyone there, and there never has been.

~

The second time is near an ark.

Aziraphale is watching among a throng of curious onlookers as Noah and his family gather animals, two by two, and herd them upon the ship. It’s already starting to sprinkle, lightly.

A shadow appears to his side. Just another human onlooker, he might think, but this presence-

A demon.

Aziraphale balks, but the demon isn’t looking at him, gazing out at the ship with a concerned expression. The angle notes a tattoo on the demon’s face in the shape of a snake.

“What’re they doing then, angel?” the demon suddenly says, clearly attuned to the angel’s presence as well.

“God’s sending a flood,” Aziraphale replies. “She’s a bit techy. More than a bit, rather, and is...wiping out the humans.”

The demon looks at him in disbelief. His eyes are weirdly beautiful, for being so snake-like. “So, She’s just drowning everyone? Really?”

“Well, not everyone, exactly.” Aziraphale tugs on the neck of his robe uncomfortably. “Noah’s whole extended family will be on the boat. And it’s really just the locals.”

The demon shakes his head, eyes wide. “The locals. Heaven’s killing off kids now?”

Aziraphale nods slowly. He does not like this conversation one bit. Why does the demon always seem to harbor exactly the same doubts Aziraphale does?

Wait, always? They’ve just met.

He tries to change the topic. “What’re you called, then?”

“Crawly,” the demon offers absentmindedly.

“I’m Aziraphale.”

The demon nods as though he knows this already, which of course he doesn’t. But Aziraphale feels his chest working at something, and it’s familiar in a way it shouldn’t be because he’s never felt this before.

Crawly blinks, then blinks again. He looks like someone trying to remember something important he’s forgotten about. Aziraphale feels the same way. But how can they have forgotten anything?

Wordlessly, as they look up at the ark and a rain begins to pitter, Crawly reaches out and takes Aziraphale’s hand. Their fingers intertwine as though they fit together, and Aziraphale shuffles slightly closer so their shoulders touch.

It’s wrong, he knows it’s wrong – but he also hopes it’s right, somehow.

The next thing he’s aware of is chaos. People are scrambling for shelter as rain falls from the sky in torrents, and Aziraphale lifts his face to let the water seep into his skin like a slab of ice. His hand is weirdly cold, but he isn’t totally sure why.

~

The third time is beside a cross and the Son of God.

There are nails involved and screams of agony. Aziraphale looks on from a safe distance, wincing with each blow of the hammer, pretending he can’t hear the grunts, the crying. It’s just birds, birds make such strange noises.

Birds don’t plead to God.

“Come to smirk at the poor bugger, have you?”

The voice comes from behind and makes Aziraphale jump slightly, and he turns to see the figure that has appeared beside him. She’s wrapped in gratuitous black with a hood covering the left side of her face. Red hair peeks out from the other side.

Most importantly, she’s a demon, and she’s looking at the angel with contempt enough that the angel ought to smite her on the spot.

“Smirk? Of course not,” Aziraphale responds with marked distaste.

“Your lot put him up there,” the demon points out. She’s not wrong.

“You know I’m not consulted on policy decisions.”

“And why would I know that?”

“Because…” Wait, why would she? “Angels on earth aren’t involved in decision making. We just carry out God’s will.”

The demon considers this. “Always wondered what it’d be like to have _free_ will, like the humans,” she says. “Suppose I’m glad not to be a ‘child of God’ right now, though.”

Aziraphale quite agrees.

“My name’s Crowley, by the way.”

Aziraphale finds himself smiling, entirely unwilling. “I do rather think that’s an improvement.”

Crowley looks from the ark to the angel in confusion. “What?”

“Your name.”

“An improvement to what?”

The angel actually doesn’t know. “Um, to most demon names I hear.” Like he’s heard that many.

“It was Crawly before,” Crowley admits. “But I didn’t like it. A bit too squirming-at-your-feet-ish.”

“Well, you were a snake.”

“How do you-”

“Your eyes.”

“Ah.”

“Did you…” Aziraphale gestures toward the poor man being nailed to the cross. “Did you meet him? I’m afraid I never did.”

“Yes,” Crowley says. “I showed him all the kingdoms of the world. Offered them to him, in fact. He refused.”

“Why?”

“Well, he’d have to praise Satan instead of God, and he is clearly too devout for his own good.”

“No, I mean…why’d you show him? Just to tempt him, I assume?”

Crowley shrugs. “I knew he’d say no. But it’s plausible deniability, you know? Travel opportunities are limited for carpenters from Galilee.”

The angel doesn’t know what to make of that. A thud of the hammer interrupts his train of thought as yet more blood spurts into the sand.

“That’s got to hurt,” the demon says, lips curled in disgust. A mild understatement. “What in the world did he do that got everyone so upset?”

“He said to love your enemies.”

“Mm, yeah. That’ll do it.”

They stand beside each other as the device is lifted, Jesus properly secured to it. Aziraphale was briefed before on how long it will take before his suffering ends, and what comes after. But it’s one thing to hear of it, and quite another to see it happening.

Aziraphale, without thinking, grabs Crowley’s forearm for balance, reassurance. Crowley looks down at the contact half-amused, half-bewildered, and pulls the arm away to draw it around the angel’s shoulders. They huddle close to each other, feeling safe in the other’s company. A new sort of constant in a strange world neither can understand.

By the time Aziraphale tears his eyes away, his shoulders feel strangely cold, and he decides he really must wear more layers during the cold months.

~

The fourth time is, blessedly, in a pub.

For once, nothing bad is happening. There’s comfortable chatter, friendly patrons, and a lonely game with stones on leather. Aziraphale is almost content until he senses a demonic presence enter the room.

He looks up to see a man. Short, tight curls, a silver laurel wreath, and a robe of ebony. There’s a strange marking on the left of his cheek, just below the most absurd little glasses he’s ever seen. The demon’s buying a drink and looks irritated, and the angel decides it would be best not to leave him alone. Who knows what he’s up to in this peaceful place?

Nothing good – which isn’t remarkable, all things considered.

The angel picks up his drink and sits beside the demon, who doesn’t acknowledge him. “Fancy meeting your kind here,” Aziraphale says a little too cheerily. “You’re a demon, then?”

“No, I’m an aardvark,” he replies saucily, looking over at the angel like he actually can’t believe this is happening. “What do you think?”

“Right.” Aziraphale lifts his cup slightly. “Salutaria.” Unexpectedly, the demon lifts his in return and with a gentle clink, they each take a sip.

“I’m just here for a quick temptation.” The demon swirls his drink in his cup slightly. “No need to babysit me, angel. Be on your way.”

The angel doesn’t move. “I’m here for Petronius’ new restaurant. Hear he does remarkable things to oysters.”

The demon considers this with marked entertainment. “Never had an oyster. Food’s not really my thing.”

Aziraphale smiles. “Oh, well, allow me to tempt you to…” He trails off in vague horror. “Well, that’s your job, I suppose, isn’t it?”

The demon looks like he’s struggling not to smirk and failing utterly. His eyes are slightly hidden now behind the frames, but Aziraphale can still tell they dance with mirth. “Temptation accomplished, nonetheless, angel. Lead the way.”

Aziraphale has no idea why he does. He has no idea why he and the demon walk side by side, sit at the same table. Why Aziraphale insists on paying, and why the food is nice, but the company is better. He doesn’t know why he knows this is right, as it should be, when it’s supposed to be wrong. After the meal is drinks, and hands are lain on the table just close enough to reach. Eventually, one of them is drunk enough – they’re not entirely sure who – to reach out to the other, and they’re clasping hands.

His heart’s doing that thing again. The thing it’s never done before.

When they leave, Crowley kisses the angel on the cheek.

He wakes up with oysters on his breath in the morning, hollow, wishing he hadn’t had to eat alone.

~

The fifth time is in clunky armor in a foggy wasteland and ends with hands on cheeks.

They lose track at one point.

A hug during the Black Death, arms intertwined at The Globe – the latter thrice, in fact. Both are fans of Shakespeare’s work.

There’s an incident at the Bastille when the demon rescues the angel, and neither can puzzle out why it’s not nearly so shocking as it ought to be, nor why Aziraphale decides afterward crepes have never tasted better.

Aziraphale does not expect to meet a demon at St. James’ Park – he hadn’t known there were any on earth, after all. Still. They chat. After a bit, the demon writes something on a piece of paper insisting ducks have ears. And Aziraphale doesn’t even know why he refuses, but he does, and it feels wrong, wrong as he walks away.

They do not touch.

And he does not forget this time.

~

He looks for the demon everywhere he goes. But for the next eighty years, he’s nowhere, and Aziraphale is almost certain the entire thing was a dream, vision, or hallucination when the elusive creature reappears. In a church, of all places, looking absurd and endearing with a slightly new name. Anthony suits him, but he’ll always be Crowley.

Nazis thwarted; two lives saved. The demon holds out a bag of books and Aziraphale hugs him tight.

A bag is dropped in the rubble as lips are shared.

Aziraphale can’t recall later how he saved the books, but he must’ve. And he’ll spend almost thirty more years wondering if he’ll ever see that demon again – the one he met in St. James’ Park. He hasn’t seen him since, but he wonders, and a small part of him…hopes, that they’ll meet again.

That’s the last time.

~

It isn’t until after Armageddon that Heaven gives up.

The Great Plan, however ineffable, was clear on a few things, and one was that, should the demon and the angel become more than they should, then Armageddon will not occur.

They tried everything.

They relocated them, they distracted them, they directed them away. But they were drawn like magnets, finding each other over millennia, across oceans. They erased their memories over and over and over until it was nearly dangerous to be doing so.

They found each other, anyway; fell in love again and again. Taking Jesus’ advice to heart, literally speaking. When they secretly worked together to stop the Antichrist from destroying the earth, Heaven didn’t know until it was far too late to do anything that wouldn’t destroy them both.

And they would have done it. It would be a worthy sacrifice for Armageddon.

But when Aziraphale turns out to be resistant to hellfire, and Crowley to holy water, they give up.

It’s over.

~

Aziraphale appears in Crowley’s flat with a start. The plan worked perfectly, and he can already tell that it did for Crowley, too. He can hardly fathom it – the things he just did, just said, and an impish, half-embarrassed smile flashes across his face. Which, at the moment, is Crowley’s face.

Where else would they meet up next but where they first found each other, now nearly two centuries past? St. James’ Park is emptier than usual as evening settles and a crisp wind sends people indoors, but there’s a certain demon he needs to see.

Aziraphale gets there first, finds the bench where they have inconspicuously, conspiratorially sat together over the past eleven years. Crowley shows up shortly thereafter, wearing Aziraphale’s body, and Aziraphale relaxes to see that he’s okay. Even having known by the presence, it’s a comfort to really, truly know.

“Well. Is anyone looking?” Aziraphale says as Crowley sits beside him. No one is, so they simultaneously reach out and grasp hands so essences may be returned to their hosts and bodies can morph to their intended shape.

And in that moment, God decides they’ve had enough. She’s had enough.

Memories flood back at the touch and Aziraphale is blinded by them, flashing in sequence, and out of order, and repeating. Over and again, one after another, he meets Crawly and Crowley through centuries and centuries and centuries. He has first impressions more times than anyone ever should be able to. With a quickened heartrate, a flash of heat, and a buzzing memory, he remembers.

He remembers.

It takes him a couple of minutes to see again, to be aware of his present state, and Crowley is clearly struggling in the same way, facing six millennia of spotted, erased memories. Their hands are still clasped.

When Crowley seems to draw himself out of the trance, they make eye contact. Understanding is twisted, feelings understood. A universe of questions clicks into place, like pieces of a puzzle they didn’t know they were building together. How had they not known?

“Angel-”

“Crowley-”

They both move in sequence. The first time they met was on a wall, but now lips meet in the center, hands on shoulders and in hair, and it’s right. God, it’s so right. This is exactly how it should be, how it has been. Aziraphale knows why his heart beats like that, why it has ached and why it now overflows. Why human sensations are familiar and distinctly as they ought to be.

Every day after, when he looks to his left, there is someone there to meet his gaze.


End file.
